


White Devil

by Andraste



Category: Tintin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andraste/pseuds/Andraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tintin takes a wrong turn on the way down the mountain. (Or: a missing scene from <i>Tintin in Tibet</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vissy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vissy/gifts).



Tintin awoke to the sound of scratching at the door. Really, it was amazing that Snowy had let him sleep so long.

It was probably for the best that he had to get up, although the dog gave him a filthy look that cemented his disquiet. The early morning air was cold and thin, but he had woken as far from the other body on the low bed as it was possible to be without falling out altogether. Snowy went over and curled up on the mattress, determined to reclaim his usual place after being denied the night before.

Now that he was up, he might as well finish packing. They were meant to leave today. In addition to being chilly, the monastery room had all the ambiance of a prison cell – rooms that Tintin had seen a great deal of, one way and another, and never found remotely erotic. In the circumstances, it was difficult to see how last night had happened at all.

Chang was still sleeping soundly.

He sat down at the desk and contemplated the scattering of items upon it, wondering how he could finish putting them away without waking him. His mouth was dry, and the only liquid in the room was a spare emergency bottle of brandy, nearly empty. Tintin hadn't done any real drinking since that incident where he'd had two glasses and woken up the next day a colonel in a small South American army.

As he put the flask into his backpack he wondered if he hadn't been drunk last night - on relief if not alcohol. But this went further back than the monastery, further than a mountain in Tibet, as far back as the first day he had pulled the boy (not a boy now, he reminded himself) out of the river. Somehow, in spite of his superb sense of direction, he had made a wrong turn.

Eventually, perhaps prompted by the sounds of packing, Chang woke up.

"Good morning," Tintin said. Which was inadequate, but less awkward than any of the things he _wanted_ to say. 

"Good morning." Obviously Chang didn't know how to begin, either.

Tintin reached for his gun – he'd foolishly left it lying there on the desk the night before, instead of tucking it under his pillow as usual. He'd been giving Chang a refresher lesson, reiterating what he'd taught him a few years before in China. He should never have shown a mere boy how to use such a dangerous object, but since he'd already been half-strangled by a mad assassin photographer, it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Much like pulling Chang out of the river. Much like striking up a conversation. Much like bringing him along for the rest of his adventures in China. They had been friends by the time their clothes dried, but that was no excuse for dragging him around. Tintin should never have spent that week recovering, bullet wound or no bullet wound. Then he would never have known how well Chang eased the restlessness that drove him to keep moving always with his quiet, intense presence. He shouldn't have dashed off to Tibet and up a mountain based on nothing but an irrational conviction that Chang could _not_ be dead. He had risked his life, those of Snowy and Captain Haddock, not to mention ...

If he hadn't done any of that, Chang would have been dead twice over, or lying in the Yeti's cave still. There were places that held that if you saved a man's life, you thereby became responsible for him forever.

Time to bite the bullet, he thought, looking absently at the gun. "Chang ... the captain will be back soon. Perhaps you should get dressed." He'd pulled his own clothes back on the night before, but Chang had drifted off to sleep almost immediately. He was much better than he had been when they carried him down from the cave, but he was still recovering.

His blusterous companion, more perceptive than anyone normally gave him credit for, had realized the way their conversation was heading the previous night, long before Tintin had himself. He had vanished quietly, claiming to be on a quest for alcoholic beverages, and never returned. The Captain, he knew better than ever after their trip to Tibet, would back him through anything. He had found out about his companion's proclivities some years before. After some initial confusion and embarrassment, had been quietly accepting, to Tintin's great surprise. The reporter knew that the captain had begun to thoroughly approve of Chang Chong-Chen.

Chang gave him an anxious look. "Are you and the Captain …?"

Tintin laughed. "Good heavens, no. Captain Haddock is my friend." Then he sobered a little. "I don't normally do this with my friends."

"Does that mean that we are no longer friends?"

Tintin sighed. "Chang, please – you don't want to be anything else of mine. I'm no good for you." Or anyone else, he added mentally. Putting his own unattached life and those of his willing friends at risk was one thing. Making part of his life the property of someone else was different.

Chang got out of bed, naked and quite beautiful in the early morning light, although he must have been freezing. He perched nonchalantly on the edge of the desk. "Am I not old enough to make my own decisions about what is good for me?"

"Of course you are, but -"

Chang put a hand on Tintin's cheek, against the faint, pale scar left by the claws of a condor. 

"You care for the captain. You care for your noble dog, and yet he has followed you from Russia to Brazil and all the way up this mountain. Why should it be different for me?"

"Are you saying that you would follow me, too?"

Now it was Chang's turn to pause. "I admit, I have not your taste for adventure. Is this to be your life forever?"

It was a question he always tried not to ask. "Whatever my life is ... I can't share it."

"Tintin, you say that you saw me lying in the snow, hurt. That you followed me thousands of miles and through hundreds of dangers. Does that not tell you something? Does it not make you believe in magic? I think that I share your life already."

"I've seen a lot of strange things in my travels. I'm not sure I believe in magic, but I've seen enough things I can't explain to make sure I don't dismiss it out of hand."

"What do you believe in, Tintin?"

In his dog, and the Captain. In the Yeti, and the cold snow outside the door. That Chang was alive for a reason.

"I don't know. Do you think you can live with that, at least for now?"

Chang does not nod or shake his head. He just smiles.

"We need to finish putting these things away," he says, reaching for his shirt. Snowy makes a grumbling noise in his sleep. He'd nap all morning if Tintin would let, but time is getting away from them.

Today they begin their journey out of Tibet. Tintin isn't sure what will happen at the bottom of the mountain, but it will certainly be another trip into the unknown.


End file.
